Chapter Text
Evan wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He had to be at therapy in thirty minutes, and it was at least a twenty-minute bus ride to Dr. Sherman’s office. And that was on a good day, with no delays or roadwork and honestly with the way the day had been going so far Evan didn't like his chances.
He looked down at his cast, its stretch of white completely unmarked, thinking of his miserable attempts at communications throughout the day. Alana had bigger things to worry about than signing his cast, and he couldn't even look at Zoe, let alone hold a conversation. At least he had Jared. Jared, who had resolutely refused to sign his cast, and just needed his car insurance paid.
Evan typed away at his computer, trying to ignore the welling despair. He would not cry at school. He would not cry at school. He meant to write something Dr. Sherman would like, he really did. Something peppy and happy, and very “first day of school, can't wait for the rest of them”. But instead, Evan channeled his true feelings and just ended up feeling worse.
Dear Evan Hansen:
It turns out this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn't going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. Because… why would it be?
Oh I know. Because there’s Zoe. And all my hope’s pinned on Zoe. Who I don't even know and doesn't know me. But maybe if I did. Maybe if I could just talk to her, then maybe… maybe nothing would be different at all.
I wish that everything was different. I wish that I was part of… something. I wish that anything I said mattered, to anyone. I mean, face it: would anyone even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?
Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend,
Me.
Evan had barely read what he had written. It had just… flowed out. He knew it wasn't what Dr. Sherman was looking for, but maybe it would be a big enough cry for help that his therapist might start taking him seriously for once.
That’s not fair, thought Evan as he pressed print. Dr. Sherman is trying, and he’s a good doctor, I just don’t click with him. Yet. I haven't clicked with him yet. But it was wrong to not enjoy it, right? Or not not enjoy it, but he should feel something, right? He should feel like he was making progress? He should feel better at least, after therapy? Right?
But then if therapy wasn't working, he should stop, right? Or maybe look for a new therapist? But that’s just ungrateful. I mean mom started working all those extra shifts the week I started going to therapy. I can't just stop because I don't like Dr. Sherman, I need to see this through so she’ll stop worrying.
Evan was saved from his spiraling (he had almost started talking to himself, which would have been a whole new level of low, even for a dweeb like him) by a looming shadow appearing over his shoulder.
“So what happened to your arm?”
Evan whipped his head around to see Connor Murphy standing next to him. The same Connor Murphy who had shoved him to the ground a few hours ago.
“Oh. I um, I fell out of a tree actually.”
Connor laughed, but it didn't feel cruel. It wasn't nice, but at least Connor wasn't too derisive.
“You fell out of a tree? That is just the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. Oh my God.”
Evan tried to muster a similar chuckle.
“I know”
Connor’s eyes fell to Evan’s cast. He cocked his head to the side and he frowned a little.
“No one’s signed your cast.”
“No, I know” Evan pulled his arm around his back, trying to hide the expanse of empty white plaster.
“I’ll sign it”
“Oh. um… you don't have to.”
Connor Murphy was the last person Evan expected to sign his cast. And he was possibly the last person Evan wanted to sign his cast; his butt was still sore.
“Do you have a Sharpie?”
And now Connor was staring at him expectantly, and he’d been thinking for too long so he couldn't really say no at this point, and did he even really want to say no to Connor Murphy of all people? Do I even want to say no to anyone? I’m more than a little desperate. But is that even news anymore?
Evan took a Sharpie from his back pocket. He’d brought two, in case the first dried out from overuse. His mom liked to pride him for being optimistic, even when things seemed the worse. Evan liked to pride himself on his ability to lie to his mom’s face about his optimism, then feel guilty later without actually fixing his behavior.
Connor grabbed his arm and turned it sideways between the two of them. He took his time and Evan watched, eyes wide, as he signed his name in big capital letters across the entire cast.
“Oh. Great. Thanks.”
Evan tried to sound sincere, but the cast felt like a lead weight on the end of his arm, and it was branded forever with the name of the only kid in school Evan could think of who had fewer friends than him. Of course, Evan had no friends at all, but Connor had a habit of making sure anyone who wasn't afraid of him hated him, and with that many enemies it had to count as like, negative friends, right? Regardless, Evan sure wouldn't be making any new friends with Connor’s name stamped across his arm. Perfect. The perfect end to his perfect first day of school, one of the hundreds left stretching on and on endlessly, a smothering blanket of school stress and deadlines-
“Now we can both pretend we both have friends.”
Connor’s words cut through the miasma swirling in Evan’s head. Who cared who saw Connor’s name on Evan’s wrist? Anyone likely to make a big deal about it probably wouldn't see Evan anyway. For those few moments Connor had been signing his name, holding on to Evan’s arm, Evan hadn’t been thinking about what to say next or why no one ever saw him. He hadn’t been thinking about the sickening vertigo at the top of the tree or the three seconds of wind whistling past him as he fell. He’d just… looked at Connor. The way the light caught in his hair, how he stuck his tongue out a little bit while concentrating. Evan looked at Connor and saw him in a way he hadn't been able to see anyone in a long, long time.
“Good point.”
Evan took back his pen, and turned on his heel, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. Then he heard the rustle of a single sheet of paper.
“Is this yours? I found it on the printer. ‘Dear Evan Hansen.’ That’s your name, right?”
Evan turned around and saw Connor Murphy holding the letter containing his spew of consciousness, the letter which Evan had hoped would be buried and never discussed outside the bounds of doctor-patient confidentiality.
“Oh that's just a stupid, its a paper I had to write for a, um, for an assignment…”
And then Connor glanced down, and Evan’s heart jumped sky-high while his stomach fell into the sub-basement.
“‘Because there’s Zoe’. Is this about my sister ?”
His voice turned on a dime, harsh and venomous. Evan desperately tried to back peddle; the miasma was back, a chorus of anxieties like the cawing of an angry murder of crows.
“No. Not at all.”
You wrote this because you knew that I would find it.”
“What?”
“You saw that I was the only other person in the computer lab, so you wrote this and you printed it out, so that I would find it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So I would read some creepy shit you wrote about my sister, and freak out, right? And then you can tell everyone that I’m crazy, right?”
Evan felt the situation slipping out of control, felt his breathing quickening, felt his pulse skyrocketing.
Deep breaths. In. Out. Dr. Sherman has been over this. Nip it in the bud.
“No. Wait. I don't even, what?”
“Fuck you.”
And Connor’s voice was different again. It was just hurt now. It was dejected, defeated, and betrayed. Evan looked at him again, tried to find that same moment of connection from before; tried to grasp at the Connor who still felt at least a little bit okay. Evan tried his hardest but one pleading look wasn't enough, and Connor left the computer lab and he didn't look back, the door slamming behind him.
“But I really, I need that back. Please. Can you just, can you please give it back?” It was too late, and Evan knew it. He considered chasing down Connor to make his case, begging for the letter back, but then he’d have to explain what the letter was in front of everyone and the dark knot of shame in his gut twisted at the thought. Dr. Sherman would be angry, or worse disappointed, at Evan’s lack of a letter. Weighing his options, however, Evan decided that if he could postpone his reckoning it would be better than trying to handle it now.
Evan felt miserable. He had arrived at Dr. Sherman’s two minutes late, and though the doctor said he didn't mind, Evan couldn't help but feel bad for wasting his time. His misery increased tenfold when Dr. Sherman asked him for the letter. His eyes drifted to Evan’s backpack as if expecting it to be tucked away in one of the pockets. Wow, I can’t wait for him to realize that I can’t even be trusted to write a dumb letter.
“Oh, I’m so sorry Dr. Sherman, um, I don't actually have my letter, like, on me?”
And then it happened, Dr. Sherman’s eyes turned down and his lips sagged the tiniest bit into a small frown. His patented disappointed look. Evan couldn't remember going three sessions without Dr. Sherman being disappointed by his progress or lack thereof.
“But I mean, I did write it! Which I know you won't believe, because I mean that's what I would say if I hadn't written the letter, but just… so you know…” Evan trailed off. Wow, real smooth. He probably thinks I have a dog who ate it.
“Okay Evan, then what happened to the letter?” Dr. Sherman leaned back in his chair, pen to his lips and eyes sparkling as he put Evan under the full heat of his examination.
“Well, I meant to write it this morning, but then it got really hectic, and my schedule got thrown out of wack and so long story short I barely got to school on time and I couldn’t finish the letter until after school.” Evan glanced at the clock on the wall. Stop with the setup. He doesn't need my life story. “Right. Sorry, here’s the point. So I wrote the letter in the computer lab and printed it out, but then this guy in my class, Connor Murphy, saw it and he took it.”
Dr. Sherman pointed at Evan’s cast with a quizzical look on his face. “He stole your letter and then signed your cast, or was that from a different Connor?”
“Oh, of course, sorry, that's dumb of me,” Evan replied. “So Connor, and it was the same Connor, there’s only one Connor. At least in our grade, because I think there’s a new freshman named Connor? But I’m not entirely sure because I just saw him passing in the hall and I think someone called out his name but I don't know maybe he’s named Tanner and I just misheard?” I’m rambling again. “Okay, I can focus, sorry Dr. Sherman. So Connor saw my letter in the printer and brought it over to me and he hadn't read it yet, he just looked at the first line and saw it was addressed to me so I guess he was nice enough to bring it over to me. And then he noticed no one had signed my cast, and without me even asking, he signed it.” Before he could start again Dr. Sherman chimed in.
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Um, I don't know. Good, I guess? I mean he kind of manhandled my arm, but overall good? Why do you ask?”
Dr. Sherman steepled his fingers. “You had a look pass over your face when you said he signed your cast. I thought it might be relevant, but it seems not. Please continue.”
“Okay, so, where was I, sorry,” Evan said as he recounted the story in his head. “So Connor brought over the letter and he signed my cast and then right before he actually, you know, handed me the piece of paper, he looked down at it and saw his sister’s name, Zoe.”
“And why was this Zoe in your letter to yourself?” Dr. Sherman raised an eyebrow, and Evan wanted to catch fire.
“Well... it's just that... see, I wanted her to sign my cast, but then she didn't. I mean she didn't not sign my cast, it’s that I stopped myself from asking her. I totally chickened out.” Evan realized if Dr. Sherman grabbed onto that last bit he’d never hear the end of it so he continued telling the story. “Right yeah so Connor saw that I had mentioned his sister and he sort of, I don’t know...” Evan almost said ‘freaked out’, but decided against it. “Connor just… panicked, and he took it and yelled at me and ran.”
“So to summarize,” said Dr. Sherman, “A fellow classmate and you had an altercation and now he has something of yours that you’d like back?”
“Yeah, that's basically it,” Evan responded.
Dr. Sherman’s eyes lit up again. “Then I think this may be a good opportunity for growth for you Evan.” Evan, who had been trying not to look directly at Dr. Sherman throughout the entire session, snapped his gaze to meet the doctor’s.
“How do you mean?”
“You told me when we first started meeting that you have trouble talking to others on the phone. I think you should call this Murphy boy and ask for your letter back.”
“You can’t be serious, I mean what if he says no?”
“I think this will be a very valuable lesson no matter what he says.”
Evan gulped. Talking about his therapy, and his most private thoughts in letter form, and talking about them with Connor ‘printer thrower’ Murphy was a little more daunting than talking to the pizza guy, but with Dr. Sherman right there, Evan couldn't bring himself to say no.
“Of course. That makes sense. I mean, am I freaked out? Yes, but it’s exposure therapy, that’s to be expected.” Evan pulled out his phone and looked through his bank of saved numbers. His mom was, depressingly, at the top of the list. Jared was below her and then it was just a few of Evan’s classmates he’d exchanged numbers with for working on various group projects. He didn't have Connor’s number.
Evan decided Jared probably knew people who knew people and so he texted him.
Hey Jared, it’s Evan. I was wondering if maybe you had Connor Murphy’s phone number?
Or maybe the number of anyone who would have it?
Evan looked to Dr. Sherman, reclining in his chair, and he rushed to fill the looming silence.
“Sorry this is taking so long, Dr. Sherman. I don't actually have Connor’s number, but I think I can get it from a friend, it’ll just be a second.” The doctor just nodded. Just then, Evan felt a buzz in his pocket, and he thanked the stars Jared hadn't decided to ignore him.
What do you need Connor’s number for? If you’re trying to sue him for shoving you that could work
Claim he worsened your arm break and let the cash come flowin in
If you split it halfsies with me I’ll represent you in court
Plus it’ll be easy to get witnesses to testify against him, kids a psychopath
Evan felt the eyes of Dr. Sherman boring into him as he stared at his phone. He wanted to be literally anywhere but this office, Jared on one end and Dr. Sherman on the other.
No thanks, Jared, I just need to call him. Do you have his number?
Jared’s response only took a minute or so, but Evan felt it as an hour. The droning buzz of the fluorescent lamp set his nerves ablaze and all of a sudden the office felt a thousand degrees. And then his phone buzzed and the spell broke.
Kay his number is 264-398-2476, and when we get to school tomorrow I expect you to grovel at my feet for this. I had to ask Alana Beck for this and she launched into this long-ass story about doing an English presentation with Connor before she told me
Evan typed out a quick thank you and began typing in Connor’s number. Just before he pressed call he turned to Dr. Sherman. The doctor paused for a moment as if hearing the alarms going off in Evan’s head. Then he leaned forward in his chair and nodded again.
“Go on, it’s just a phone call. The worst thing he can say is no.”
Evan wanted to protest, as he knew from experience that Connor Murphy had a repertoire of words that were worse than “no”. Once when some kid accidentally tripped him in the cafeteria he said a sentence with enough expletives to shock a nun’s hair white. Despite his spiraling worries, Evan steeled himself and let the number dial.
The phone rang a few times but then miracle of miracles, he got Connor’s answering machine. The voice had a robotic lilt to it, but it was unmistakably Connor’s voice.
“Hey, you’ve reached Connor’s cell. Clearly, you’re not worth talking to, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Or maybe I won’t.” Evan couldn't help but grin at the snarky response. He’d never changed his phone’s factory set message.
“Hey Connor, it’s Evan. Evan Ha-” The beep signaling the start of the recording cut him off and Evan cursed himself.
“Uh, hey Connor. It’s Evan Hansen, from school. Sorry to bother you, especially outside of school, but um, remember that letter from last period, the one I printed out in the computer lab? We had a misunderstanding about what it was about and you grabbed it and took off? Well, I kind of need it because it’s a thing I have to do for therapy, and like I need to bring it in for Dr. Sherman, er, I mean, my therapist to read. And so if maybe you could bring it into school tomorrow that’d be awesome? Sorry to call you after hours, and with a totally random number out of the blue, I always hate that, so sorry, and please bring the letter to school if you still have it. Thanks so much!”
Evan slammed the end call button as if it owed him money, and he realized he was breathing heavier than when he had started the call. Much heavier. But he had done it. He looked to Dr. Sherman for approval and found him beaming in his chair.
“Very good Evan. I can tell that was difficult for you but I believe it’ll pay off in the long run.”
Evan breathed out a sigh of relief and looked to the clock. His time was almost up and he hoped Dr. Sherman might let him leave a few minutes early to catch his bus after his near Herculean effort of the phone call.
“Now you mentioned earlier that you included a girl in your letter, Zoe Murphy. You’ve never mentioned her before so I feel I should ask, what’s your connection to her?”
Evan realized he wasn't going to be getting anywhere soon and resigned himself to dodging questions about his non-existent love life.
Evan didn't expect much to come of the phone call, not really. He assumed Connor would just delete the voicemail as soon as he heard, so when his phone started ringing he nearly jumped to his skin. No one ever called him except his mom, and it was the middle of her shift. Evan was so surprised he almost let his phone run out of rings before answering it. There was silence on the other end of the line, and Evan hadn't checked who was calling.
“Hello? Uh, who is this?” Evan asked, shifting his weight as he sat.
The voice on the other end of the line was distorted slightly by Evan’s crappy reception, and he could swear it almost had a slurred quality to it, but Evan could still recognize the voice on the other end of the line as Connor’s.
“It’s me.”
Short and to the point, good.
“Oh well, uh, I take it you got my message then, I just really need that letter back, and I know it may read as weird but I didn't really want anyone to read it anyway so-”
“What letter?” Connor cut him off and Evan floundered for a few seconds, trying to think of something to say.
“Uh, the letter I printed out in the computer lab, and you took from me? After last period today? It was only, like, five hours ago, so.” Evan trailed off.
Connor paused for a moment and Evan could hear him take a long, measured breath.
“Right, right, sorry I remember now. My bad, I’m pretty high right now so the memory’s a little foggy. I still have it in one of my pockets. Let me just find it…” Connor trailed off and Evan could hear various sounds of rummaging on the end of the line.
“Oh, um, sorry to disturb you, if you're, um, busy,” Evan said, “Do you want me to call back later?”
“No,” Connor replied, almost sharp in his insistence. “I’m not really that high, I’ll put this out. I called you, and, I don't know, it doesn't suck, to actually talk on the phone. Easier than talking face to face, at least.”
“That’s so funny,” said Evan, “I always feel the opposite. I mean yeah talking in person absolutely sucks, but at least you can gauge a person’s reactions and adjust. On the phone I never know how they’re taking my message, I can't read their face and prepare for what they’re gonna say next.”
“I don’t know man, face to face you have to just take whatever anyone’s dishing out. If someone on the phone is yelling at you for something, the anger just doesn't feel as real. For me, at least.”
There was a lull as both teens quietly held their phones to their ears, thinking of what the other had said. Should I ask about the letter again? Thought Evan. I mean what if he thinks I’m being too pushy? He could destroy it. Did I save a copy of it somewhere? I don't think so. Can I try to fake a new one? Dr. Sherman could see right through that, right? Which means I have to get this one back from Connor who is a total wildcard and could explode if I mention his sister or the letter or the letter about his sister-
“Hey, are you okay?” Connor asked. “I mean I never got a chance to read this letter, I just grabbed it and ran, and pulling it out now, I mean, are you okay?”
“You don't have to read it! It’s just a dumb letter but it’s sort of personal and it’d be, um, sort of cool of you to just leave me to my self, you know?”
“ I wish that anything I said mattered, to anyone. I mean, face it: would anyone even notice if I disappeared tomorrow? ” Connor’s voice was heavy. “Because this sort of feels like a cry for help. And it always sucks when they go ignored.”
“No no I’m fine.” Evan’s ears went pink, and he suddenly saw some of the merits of talking over the phone. “I mean I already see a therapist, and that's actually what the letter’s for, so that’s why it’s so important that I get it back.”
“Right, right. I guess if you’re already getting help, then that's already more than I can do.”
“I mean I guess you can see how much it helps me. I might as well just ask anyone on the street how to stop my raging anxieties.”
“Really? That sucks.”
“No I mean I shouldn't say that, at all, therapy is great and very helpful and Dr. Sherman is the best I just don't, like, work well with him. Or at all. Haha.”
“Are you like, sure about that?”
“I mean, I don't really want to say anything bad about Dr. Sherman, but like, I don't know, it just feels like he sort of goes through the motions? Like a lot of his ideas feel like cookie-cutter plans that he uses on every other patient and when they don't work, because I guess I’m just more fucked up than anyone else, he just shrugs and moves onto the next one. Which is totally selfish of me, I know, and he’s a busy guy, right? He can’t just dream of new kinds of therapy for me and me alone because I’m doing worse than everyone else, and I think it’s really just me not trying hard enough, so long story short therapy is awesome and everything’s fine.
They both waited for the other to speak. Neither of them was particularly good at starting conversations, however. The silence stretched between them, yawning and seemingly endless until Evan couldn't bear it anymore.
“Have you ever gotten therapy? I mean not that you, like, need it or anything, but I don't know, it could help with anger management, which maybe could apply to you like a little bit?”
“You mean ‘Connor you’re so fucked up there’s no way you haven't been tossed at some shrink to be put together again’” Connor chuckled. “I’ve sort of done everything except real therapy. I don't know, when I first started to really act out, get this, Cynthia, my mom, thought of sending me to a yoga retreat. From there I bounced around, and nothing really stuck. Cynthia likes all those non-traditional methods, the homeopathic shit. Real psychological doctors fall under the umbrella of Western Medicine she had such an aversion to.” Evan could practically hear the air quotes around Western Medicine, and despite himself, he chuckled a little.
“Oh if you think that’s funny you’ve got to hear the rest. You know she was Budest last year? That lasted about six months before she found a new new-age fad. It’s crazy, and borderline cultural appropriation each time she finds something new to latch onto.” Evan let himself laugh. Connor let himself laugh. It felt nice to actually let go for once, for both of them.
Unfortunately, as with most moments of clarity, It could only last a moment. Connor cut himself off, and Evan stopped short, unsure of what he’d done wrong. Did he laugh too hard? Oh God, he’d been laughing his ass off at the expense of Connor Murphy’s mom. Oh God, he was so dead.
“I guess I shouldn’t be mean. I’m one to talk,” Connor said, voice sardonic. “I mean if we’re talking coping mechanisms, mine all involve smoking something, which is probably the other reason I’ve never gotten any real therapy. Larry’s suggestion has from the beginning been rehab. Well, last year he got what he wanted.” Connor’s voice started to rise, becoming reedy and thin. “I was at my worst and he decided I should probably be kicked while I was down, and he packed me off to be someone else’s problem. Joke’s on him. The only thing that hellhole gave me was the names and numbers of some new dealers.”
“Oh,” said Evan, because what else could he say? “That sucks.”
Connor took a deep breath and did his best to even his breathing, control his voice.
“Sorry to dump all that on you. You’re not really here for my life story.”
“I mean, I don't mind. If you have something you need to get off your chest, I’m all ears. You listened to my rant about Dr. Sherman, I’ll listen to you talk about your family. And, just to be sure, nothing ever leaves this phonecall. Trust is important and everything.” Evan paused a second. He worried he had sounded accusatory, that Connor might take it the wrong, but he actually managed to mostly smother those thoughts.
“But I guess I don't really need to clarify that, I mean, do either of us really have anyone to gossip to?”
Connor laughed. It was just a light chuckle, but Evan felt his heart lift a little.
“I guess you’re right. Besides, what rumors is anyone gonna spread about us? ‘I heard Connor Murphy and Evan Hansen like to talk to each other on the phone, like an old married couple.’ We’d better be careful, we wouldn't want our places at the top of the popularity totem pole to be in jeopardy.” Evan let himself laugh but steeled himself for his next words.
“So, do you think you’d like to maybe try therapy? Like, real therapy? I mean just because I’m not a huge fan of Dr. Sherman doesn't mean you couldn't find someone actually really helpful and I think it could be good for you. And not that you need to be helped but sometimes taking that first step to recovery can be the hardest, at least I hope its the hardest because it was already very hard for me, and I thought, I don’t know, I should at least suggest it while I hade you on the line. But like now that I say it out loud it sounds like I’m super judgy and patronizing so sorry, a lot.”
Connor was silent, and Evan held bated breath.
“I don’t know. I’ve mentioned it in passing and I think the general consensus is that I’m largely too far gone for any worthwhile attempt to be made. I mean, why waste resources on a hail mary, amiright? At least I have the love and support of pot. Who needs a real therapist when you can just self medicate?”
“Okay well, I’ve never actually experimented with any drugs, like ever, I don't know anyone cool enough to hook me up, haha, but I guess I have a subscription for some Lexapro if you ever want to regular medicate? If you ever feel anxious, it does its job well enough. I mean I’ll be honest I usually use it all up a few days before my refill but if it’d help you than I can try to spare a few? It’s a motivator for me to rely on medication less I guess.”
The line was quiet for a moment. Evan’s mind turned a mile a minute, but he wanted to give Connor time. Or was this idea completely stupid and he just offered to sort of be a drug dealer? If it was just a gift then it wouldn't be a drug deal, right? Oh my God did I just offer to be Connor Murphy’s pseudo-drug dealer?
“Thanks. Thanks a lot, Evan. I don’t think I should take any of your meds, but I’ll try to cut back on the self-medication. Especially tonight. Earlier I got a little more than I usually do, and I want to turn my brain off but this might be a little much.” Connor chuckled, but even over the phone it sounded forced.
“Okay, well, make sure you’re safe. I don't want to pry or assume anything but if you’re thinking of using anything that’s like, really sketchy maybe try not doing that? Which is totally dumb advice but I don't know-”
“No, it’s good advice, Evan, you’re fine. I really should try not doing that. I think I should be okay. Talking to you has been a great distraction.”
“Oh, that’s great! Talking to you is also nice. I guess we kind of got off on the wrong foot. This morning, I mean.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Connor’s voice turned sour.
“I mean I get it,” said Evan. “Jared was being a dick. He does that a lot, actually. But get to know him and deep down he’s a nice guy. I think. At least I hope so.” Evan choked out a nervous laugh. “And for the record, I actually think your hair is really cool. And I wasn't laughing at you earlier today.”
“No, I know,” said Connor.
“Oh. You knew?”
“No I mean I knew but I just- I get these hot flashes, ever since I was a kid, and I just get so mad, and this morning it felt like everyone was watching, just staring at me, and I just- I just lashed out. Like a child. Like I always do.” Connor sighed. “I’m sorry, Evan. I’m sorry I pushed you, and I’m sorry I called you a freak, and I’m sorry this apology means nothing.”
Evan was taken aback at Connor’s defeated tone. “No, I believe you, Connor; you have stuff going on, and I mean that's like an extenuating factor. I know you feel bad. You’re forgiven,” said Evan.
“Don’t you get it?” Connor yelled, jolting Evan in surprise. “It doesn't matter whether I feel bad or not, no matter how guilty I feel, I’m seemingly incapable of actually fixing my behavior, or changing the parts of me that are fundamentally broken. I can give out as many apologies as I want, and God knows I have, but if I can't actually address the root causes, they’re all meaningless. ‘Feeling bad’ isn't my personal get out of jail free card.”
“Connor, how can I put this? I forgive you. Even if you can't forgive yourself yet, I don't care if you shoved me in the hallways. I broke my arm a few months ago, as far as pain thresholds go, mine’s a little a higher than a mild shove.”
“But I-” Connor began,
“No Connor, I’ve been exactly where you’ve been, and I’ve gone down the same spiral as you. Yes, you were a dick, kind of a colossal one if I have to be honest, but you’re also a terrible actor and I know a cry for help when I see one. And it always sucks when they go ignored. I forgive you, and that is the end of the discussion.” The line was quiet for a second. If Evan heard the sound of a sniffle, he chose to ignore it.
“Wow, who knew you could actually grow a spine?” The bite was gone from his voice, and Evan relaxed.
“Yeah, that’s never really happened before. I mean talking like that took every ounce of will I had and I think my heart might explode but, I don't know. I just feel like if we’re going through the same shit, we should at least share our wisdom, right? Pool resources for a common goal? Even if it hurts sometimes.”
“Yea, I’d like that.” Connor sighed. “Do you wanna get to sleep? It’s kind of late, and I don't want to hold you hostage on the line if you’re tired.”
Evan was tired. Exceedingly tired. But he was still a little worried about Connor. He didn't want him to do anything stupid. Evan could stay up a little longer, keep the conversation going.
“No, I’d love to keep talking, if you don't mind staying up for me.”
“Then it’s a date,” said Connor. “First one to fall asleep on the line loses, you game?”
“Sure,” Evan said, “Only if you’re game to lose.”
“My my seems that bit of spine you managed to grow stuck around. I think I like this new Evan. But if you even attempt to imply that you can outlast me in staying awake and wasting Larry’s money on an outrageous phone bill I will put you in the goddamned ground, capiche?”
They both laughed, and Evan resolved to the very possible all-nighter before him.
“If you’re that confident, I guess we’d better put our money where our mouths are.”
When Heidi Hansen got home, she saw a twenty-dollar bill on the counter where she’d left it. It was an almost perfect mockery of her discussion with Evan that morning and she huffed slightly. She put the money back in her purse and strode upstairs, ready for yet another confrontation with her son. As she tried to think of the best way to gently remind him that she was dangerously close to stealing iv bags from the hospital and jamming them into his arm if only to keep from becoming malnourished, she discovered Evan was already asleep. He was laying on top of his bed instead of under the covers, his light was still on, and he was fully clothed, but he was still sleeping like a baby.
Heidi couldn’t remember the last time Evan had slept so soundly, and with further inspection, she found him curled around his phone. Heidi could hear gentle snoring on the other end of the line, and she smiled. She fetched an extra blanket from the closet and draped over Evan, then slowly backed out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She wondered who was on the phone with her son. She wondered why they had called Evan. But Heidi realized it didn't much matter at that moment. They seemed to be good for Evan, and that was enough.